I was glad when the baby robins flew their nest atop the porch light because the parental robins had been so aggressive and loud in protecting them. Hey, wait a minute: Correct me if I’m wrong, Momma Robin, but this is — was — my porch.

Sure, little giraffes are cute, and they coined the word "coltish" because of, well, little horses. Yet while I find certain animals elegant — cats, especially — I’m impervious to the charms of their young versions.

So how do the deer know I’ll make an exception for them?

I’ve become convinced it’s calculated on their part. They know how annoying they are, so they parade their young ’uns before me to get back on my good side.

Somehow, they’ve learned this will work: I’ll forgive them for another year.

I will forgive them their deer poop, which my husband curses whenever he mows the lawn.

I will forgive them their eating habits, which so closely match my garden-purchasing habits. In other words, I buy it, they eat it. When I pull into the driveway with "takeout" from the nursery, I might as well ring a dinner bell.

Worse yet, they will string me along, tricking me into believing a plant is safe in a certain location. Irises? Their shoots grew steadily from late April onward . . . until last week, when they were chewed down to the nub.

And then, every year about this time, they entrust the care of their fawns with me.

There was the hot morning we found a very, very young fawn resting in the cool shade of the house. It had no water, no food, no mother in sight.

We worried. We fretted. We Googled.

We learned that the mother was probably off foraging for her own nutritional needs and we should steer clear. By afternoon, mother and child had silently slipped away.

Then there was the year two older fawns lazily lolled in our backyard, just taking a breather.

They stared at us alertly, but didn’t run. Clearly, a parent had parked them there with a stern warning not to leave.

In short, we’d been turned into a Deer Day Care.

This year, they’re back, their white spots drawing the eye wherever they go. They’re learning to eat; Mom has introduced them to forsythia.

I am annoyed. I am, really I am. I know that today’s beautiful fawn will be tomorrow’s pooping, drooling deer. (Have you ever watched a deer eat a crab apple? Disgusting!)

Yet I can’t muster even the most obligatory "Shoo!" I can’t betray the trust extended by a fellow mother. On some level, I’m honored.

Momma and her offspring are safe for another year. She’s got me, and she knows it.